Margo Jefferson PERFORMING ARTS

RIPPING OFF BLACK MUSICFrom Thomas "Daddy" Rice to Jimi Hendrix

Part the First: Being an Expositionon the Development of the Myth ofRock Music as Viewed hy Antagonis.tic Participants, and Containing asMuch of the History of the MinstrelShow as Is Necessary for the Read-er's Understanding.

ELVIS PRESLEY was the greatestminstrel America ever spawned,and he appeared in bold whiteface.He sang like a nigger, danced like anigger, walked like a nigger, andtalked like a nigger. Chuck Berry, un-fortunately, was a nigger. They aretwo of the more splendid beings inthe Great Chain of Minstrelsy thatstretches from the start of the nine-teenth century to the present, encom-passing circuses, medicine shows,Broadway, the Fillmore East, night-clubs, concert halls, television, andLas Vegas.

The patriarch of the minstrel showwas Thomas "Daddy" Rice, a whitegentleman who, with a keen eye forentertainment, based his 1829 debuton the antics of a deformed and rheu-matic ex-slave. The ex-slave made afew pennies a day performing a neces-sarily limited but appealing song anddance he called "Jump Jim Crow";charmed with it, Daddy studied, re-hearsed, and in a short time made

40 show-business history. His "Jump Jim

Crow," buttressed with ragged clothesand blackface makeup, was acclaimedthe comic performance of the Louis-ville season; within weeks Daddy wasthe toast of New York, and eight yearslater the toast of London.

Naturally, minstrel shows grew likeTopsy, playing to the highborn andthe lowly across the land. Withtheir Irrepressible High Spirits theycheered the South through the CivilWar, and managed to create suchgoodwill in their audiences that bythe late 1860s even Negro performerswere in demand. Negro minstrels,though, were accorded no specialprivileges, the assumption being thatnone had a patent on the "pathos andhumor," the "artless philosophy," orthe "plaintive and hilarious melo-dies" of Negro life once it becamepublic entertainment. Like their whiteco-workers, black minstrels woreburnt cork makeup and colorful rags(as country bumpkin Jim Crow) orwhite gloves and tails (as city dandyZip Coon). Once these Ethiopianbards overcame some prejudice, par-ticularly among Southern audiences,they were said to be very funny in-deed.

Secession, abolition, the Civil War,and Reconstruction passed: the min-strel remained. When the form itselffaded toward the century's end (la-mented by song publisher E.B. Marksas a sign that manners no longerflourished in America), its clowningand soft-shoe routines trotted intovaudeville and its songs drifted intoTin Pan Alley and musical comedy.Songs by black writers were placedin white shows, serving as vehiclesfor white stars and as best sellersfor white publishers. White com-posers, updating Stephen Foster'shabit of borrowing melodies fromblack churchgoers and boatmen,spent hours in black clubrooms writ-ing down the tunes they heard andcopyrighting them as their own.

Song-and-dance comics GeorgeWalker and Bert Williams were billed

for a time as "The Two Real Coons"by managers anxious to distinguishthem from numerous noncoon rivals.And James Weldon Johnson writesabout the famous New York producerwho gained a reputation for inven-tiveness by studying the Will Cook-Paul Lawrence Dunbar show, Clor-indy-the Origin 0/ the Cakewalk,and learning from it that chorusesmight be taught to sing and dancesimultaneously, and that a certainsyncopated beat was very catchy whenapplied to orchestral music. As radiotook its place in the entertainmentpantheon, minstrels began to callthemselves Amos'n' Andy; and whenthe first talkie musical film opened,no one was surprised to see veteranvaudeviller Al Jolson enter in black-face, prance down a runway, fall onone knee and cry "Mammy!" whilethe orchestra played "Swanee" furi-ously in the background.

The white minstrel has an endlesssupply of incarnations: playing nig-gel' is first-rate theater. It has laughs,tears, cheap thrills--a bargain cathar-sis. The performer's white skin, likean actor's curtain call, is an ingenioussafety device, signaling that the showis over and nothing has changed.Aristotle neglected to mention thatthe aftermath of a catharsis is theviewer's smug satisfaction with thecapacity for feeling, a satisfactionthat permits a swift and comfortablereturn to business as usual. You can'tlose playing the White Negro, becauseyou are in the unique position of re-taining the material benefits of beingwhite while sampling the mythologi-cal ones of being black.

MUCH HAS BEEN MADE of the1950s, when America's teen-agers thrilled to the sounds of rhythmand blues. It began, so they say, witha small group, first listening to the

Margo Jefferson, a free-lance writer living inNew York, graduated from Columbia Univer-sity School of Journalism in 1971.

PERFORMING ARTS

fugitive sounds on black radio sta-tions, then venturing into black clubsand theaters. White disc jockeys tooknotice, white record producers andradio station owners took action, andfaster than you could say "Zip Coon"the country's youth was dancing tothe sounds of Elvis Presley and ChuckBerry.

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42

f:!v':s Presley

In fact, one portion of Americachose Elvis, son of Daddy Rice, andthe other opted for Chuck, bastard ofJim Crow. Elvis was a good boy. Inaddition to appearing on The Ed Sul-livan Show, he made movies in Holly-wood with scrubbed starlets andstage-set teenagers who bopped likethe Peter Gennaro Dancers. ChuckBerry remained in rock shows andblack theaters, complaining aboutcourts and car salesmen, mockinghigh school, and begging rock androll to deliver him from the days ofold. Elvis lived quietly in Hollywoodwith his mother while Chuck tried tosmuggle a child bride across theGeorgia state line, and when Elviswent into the Army, Chuck went tojail.

Then there was Bo Diddley, Chi-cago follower of Howlin' Wolf andMuddy Waters, who declared that hehad a tombstone hand and a grave-yard mind, a taste for diamond rings,barbed wire, and cobra snakes; hewarned, prophetically, that you can'tjudge a book by looking at its cover.And there was Little Richard, whopiled his hair in lush waves, dressedin satin and brocade, taught theBeatles to cry "Woooo!" and forbadea young band member named IimiHendrix to wear a fancy shirt onstage

because "I am the King, the King ofRock and Rhythm. I am the only oneallowed to be pretty."

There was Fats Domino too, andJackie Wilson and Chuck Willis: alsoBill Haley, Jerry Lee Lewis,' andBobby Darin; there was LaVernBaker, minstrelized by TheresaBrewer, and Etta James, Jane Crowedby Georgia Gibbs. There were manyothers too, like Big Maybelle, RuthBrown, the Chantels, and the Jesters,who stayed in the rhythm and bluesmarket, with their unpalatably ethnicvoices and rhythms, and were rarelyheard of by whites until the 1950s re-vival nearly twenty years later, whenno one cared to spoil the nostalgia byremembering whom they had orhadn't grown up listening to. PeterTownsend of the Who has writtenabout those days:

I'm a substitute [or another guy,1 look pretty tall but my heels are

high.The simple things you see are all

complicated,1 look pretty young but I'm just

backdated.It's a substitute lies [or jact . . •1 look all white but my dad was

black ..•

Elvis and his contemporariesshocked and thrilled because theywere hybrids. What had taken placewas a kind of Immaculate Miscegena-tion, resulting in a creature who wasat once a Prancing Nigger and a Blue-Eyed Boy.

THE BEATLES emerged beforeAmerican audiences in 1963, witha varied assortment of songs, someclever updatings of the Everly Broth-ers sort, some new versions of oldblack rock hits by the Isley Brothers,the Shirelles, Little Richard, the Mir-acles, and Chuck Berry. According torock and roll chroniclers, the Beatles"revolutionized rock and roll bybringing it back to its original sourcesand traditions" -in other words,they brought Us together. It would bemore accurate to say that the Beatlesseasoned, cooked, and served some ofUs up to others of Us with appropri-ate garnishing. They refined and ex-purgated the minstrel show performedrather crudely by Elvis, preferring tosketch what he had filled in and tosuggest what he had made literal.

Their charm lay in the fact that theywere the visual antithesis of what theysang, "a minstrel entertainment en-

tirely exempt from the vulgaritieswhich have hitherto characterized ne-gro extravaganzas." * When ChuckBerry sings, "Roll Over Beethoven/Dig these rhythm 'n' blues!" it is anoutlaw's challenge to white culture.When the Beatles sing their version,it has the sweet naughtiness of PeterPan crowing "I Won't Grow Up."

The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, theAnimals, and others sparked a jubi-lee. In news conferences they boldlyannounced that they listened to ChuckJackson, Smokey Robinson, and Sol-omon Burke; white fans listened too,or at least memorized the names. TheStones pronounced Wilson Pickett's"Midnight Hour" the best record ofthe year; "Midnight Hour" becamethe hit record of the year.

Far from breaking ground, thesegroups were the inheritors of a tradi-tion that began in England with theeighteenth century, when "Negrosongs" were first performed on theconcert stage. In 1866 a black min-strel troupe visited London, and thelocal streetsingers began to blackentheir faces; English music-hall starswere soon crossing the Atlantic topopularize black-inspired Americansongs with white American audiences.During the 1920s small groups ofEnglish people began to cultivate thejazz styles that black creators hadabandoned, collecting records, bring-ing performers to Europe, and form-ing their own bands.

Houilin' Wolf Muddy Warers

Eventually a country blues revivaldeveloped, during which bluesmenlike Big Bill Broonzy, Sonny Terry,Brownie McGhee, and Leadbelly

* An advertisement for the VirginiaMinstrels, one of the most successfulwhite groups of 1843.

found themselves celebrated less asmusicians than as walking marks ofAmerican oppression. Tours for "au-thentic" blues and gospel singers werearranged and the new urban bluesrepresented by Muddy Waters' elec-tric guitar frowned upon. By the earlySixties, though, rhythm and blues hadtaken hold, and young Britishers werelistening eagerly to Sonny Boy Wil·liamson, Howlin' Wolf, Slim Harpo,and Bo Diddley, while practicingblack voices in local clubs and base-ments. After a time they began totake themselves very seriously: "Wesing more colored than the Africans,"boasted John Lennon, and few Amer-icans were inclined to dispute him.

High-school and college studentsstepped out in style. People began todrive onto campus in their converti-bles with the local soul station blaringat maximum intensity. Boys began tolandscape their sentences with "man,""together," and "can you dig it?"Everybody had an amusing storyabout a trip to the Apollo or theRegal in the custody of a black friend.Black rock history became fashion-able as a kind of gutter .camp: onespoke of how dynamic the Tempswere live; one spent an afternoon inRoxbury tracking down a copy of"Function at the Junction." One mur-mured the words of songs by Gary"U.S." Bonds and the Coasters, andinvited them to perform at one'sschool, wishing privately that theywould get rid of their iridescent suitsand try to look as if they hadn't beendrinking. If one was really into blackmusic, one spoke to a black friendabout the tragedy of Billie Holidsy-s-did she know the song "Don't Ex-plain"?-and one was puzzled and abit hurt when the black friend an-swered sharply that she had known"Don't Explain" since she was elevenyears old.

It is jarring and most distressingto walk into a room one has consid-ered private and find it ringed withcameras, spotlights, and insistentstrangers claiming long acquaintanceand making plans to move in and re-decorate without being invited. Blackmusic and with it the private blackself were suddenly grossly public-tossed onstage, dressed in clownwhite, and bandied about with a glee-ful arrogance that just yesterday hadchosen to ignore and condescend.

Blacks, it seemed, had lost thebattle for mythological ownership ofrock, as future events would prove.

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PERFORMING ARTS

Part the Second: A Short Accountof the Monterey Pop Festival, WithSpecial Attention Paid to Jimi Hen-drix and Janis Joplin.

TilE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL.Summer. 1967. California. Acidrock was decreed the new force inrock music, its best exponent beingthe Jefferson Airplane. The Eastwas honored through Ravi Shankar,Africa acknowledged through HughMasakela, and hovering over it all wasOtis Redding, veteran of the rhythmand blues-gold lame suit circuit. Hav-ing been largely ignored by Americanwhites until Monterey (and possiblyuntil England voted him the numberone vocalist of the year), Otis waspraised extravagantly and dubbedthe King of Soul promptly after hedied that winter. A tragedy that hehad been so taken for granted (blackswere unaware that they had taken himso for granted), and there will neverbe another Otis (no, of course not,said blacks. but there will be Wilsonand Bobby' and LeRoy and Sonny),and his recording of "Satisfaction"was not up to the Stones', still ...

Monterey was the counterculturemelting pot, and the blend was, asusual, suspiciously lacking in variety."It's an American Dream," declaredEric Burdon. "Includes Indians too."There were none onstage at Montereyand few in the audience, but clearlypeople thought well of them: why elsewere they all wearing beaded head-bands and fringed vests?

Two cult figures performed at Mon-tcrey: Iimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.

Jimi Hendrix learned to play the

44 Jim; Hendrix

guitar listening to Muddy Waters,Elmore James, B.B. and Albert King.He played with Little Richard, theIsley Brothers, Ike and Tina Turner,and King Curtis, and he found suc-cess in England with music that was atense fusion of acid electronics, jazz,and blues. He made himself a gro-tesque and a god-America's hand-crafted Spade, obscene and absurd,sensual and elegant. He came onstageat Monterey with pressed hair and ashirt of scarlet ruffles. He shuffled,jived, flashed his teeth, and an-nounced to the crowd, "I just wantto grab you and-you know-one ofthem things man, one of them things.But I just can't do that. So I'm gonnasacrifice something I really love.We're gonna do the English andAmerican combined anthem. Nowdon't get mad ... It's the only thingI can do." And he began to chant"Wild Thing." Then, determined tofulfill or to parody every living fan-tasy of black macho-sexuality, heraped his guitar, set it on fire, anddanced as it burned.

Two years later he came to Wood-stock. "Wild Thing" had become anautopsy of the Star-Spangled Banner,his ingratiation a distant "You canall leave if you want. We're just jam-ming." He stood still and played, andwhile his music grew multiple andrich he seemed to splinter and frag-ment. To blacks he was the pimp ofa cheap acid rock craze; to whites hewas a sacred whore, dispensing graceand salvation by playing Black StudMadman over and over. And so hebegan with his guitar and ended bysacrificing himself to an audience thatfed off his complex pain as they wouldhave from a dazzling display of cos-tumes at a Ziegfeld spectacular. Whenhe screamed they cheered; when hepounded his feet they clapped theirhands; when he choked on his ownvomit they played "Purple Haze" andtold each other that he was kissingthe sky. It was a common death,though, like the alcoholic Chicagowinter death of Blind Lemon Jefler-son, or the drug death of CharlieParker; a sinister death, like SamCooke's shooting and Otis Redding'sWisconsin plane crash.

And then there was Janis, shiftingfrom Bessie Smith to Mavis Staple toBig Mama Thornton, stopping at OtisRedding, Tina Turner, and Big May-belle along the way. She was a mis-fit from Port Arthur, Texas-"I gottreated very badly in Texas-they

don't treat beatniks too good inTexas"-and she discovered earlythat identifying with archetypal mis-fits makes life a little easier. She was]920s in style, with ostrich fea thers,silver bracelets, and a raunchiness shesometimes wore like a new and slight-ly light piece of clothing. Janis's lifehad echoes of Bessie Smith's, bothbeing small-town Southern girls whotook the cities with their singing,drinking, and swearing; both beingdubbed Queen of the Blues, whichmeans be on top when you sing"Down-Hearted Blues" and be awinner when you sing "Women IsLosers," But Janis was a white womanusing a black woman's blues to getto her own. At her worst she parodiedand hid the other; at her best (harderto come by, not as pleasing to heraudience), the mimicry stopped andher own pain came out in her ownway. She may have dismissed or for-gotten the distance between an ac-tress and her role: having purchaseda tombstone for Bessie Smith somethirty years after the fact, she dieda few weeks later, on the same dayBessie had.

Part the Third: Containing an Exam-ination of the Rock Star, in Both HisWhite and His Hlack Incarnations.

ELVIS, THE BEATLES, the Stones,the Animals, Mountain, Cream,Joe Cocker, Julie Driscoll, the Grate-ful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Leon Russell,Rod Stewart, fans and record buyers-all took some part of the particularstyle of hedonism, toughness, sexual-ity, and cynicism found in blackmusic and committed the sins of legit-imization, definition, and miscompre-hension against it. The crudity of theDaddy Rice-Jim Crow transaction hasbeen smoothed out over the years, butno black performer yet has been ableto get the praise and attention he orshe deserves independent of whitetutelage and translation. Rock hasadopted and refined Europe's neu-rotic patronage system, based on abirthright of race rather than family.Here the benevolent aristocrat, some-times a critic, more often a performer,dips into the vat of scrambling musi-cians and extracts one or two whoappeal to him-whose impuritieshave been boiled away over the years.Sonny Boy Williamson, B. B. King,Muddy Waters, Papa John Creach,simmered and done to a turn.

The Rolling Stones

A Stones tour is rarely completewithout a black performer, be itStevie Wonder or Ike and Tina Tur-ner; the black performer gets nation-wide fame and fortune; the Stonesget a crack at authenticity. Mick Jag-ger stood in the wings every night towatch Tina and the lkettes slide, turn,and kick with impeccable abandon;at the time he was content to moveabout the stage hitting a tambourineuntil it broke and then hitting an-other. By the tour's end, much toTina's surprise, he had managed todevise a unique if labored form ofrhythmic dancing, though it is saidhe repaid their beneficence by havingthe microphones turned off if theyperformed too well. B.B. King, !VIuddyWaters, and most of the long-standingbluespeople were brought to theaters,clubs, and large audiences by bandsof their young, white, and much moresuccessful imitators. Brenda Hollo-way of "Every Little Bit Hurts" singstrifling backups for Joe Cocker;Merry Clayton was "discovered"backing the Stones; Billy Preston wasbrought forth from the wilderness byGeorge Harrison.

What follows is inevitable. There ismeasured praise in the New YorkTimes, comparing the performer toother black "greats" and warningagainst commercialism. There is ahipper interview or review in RollingStone, which also mentions commer-cialism (tied, it seems, to the black'sovereagerness to be successful) .There is a brief appearance on theJohnny Carson or Dick Cavett showwhere the performer is hustled offwithout being allowed to speak orasked for a definition of soul. Thereis a string of tours and an album, withnotes written by a white disc jockey,producer, or performer, referring tothe funkiness of the artist and thedown-home quality of the black musi-cal experience.

The economics of the patronagesystem are obvious. Rock music ismanaged by the big powers that con-

trol Madison Avenue and by thesmaller ones that wish they could.Whites control the media that pro-mote a performer, the apparatus thatproduces records and arranges theright concert appearances, and as con-sumers, they outnumber blacks ten toone. Under these circumstances it isdifficult for black audiences to sup-port black performers financially asthey need and deserve to be sup-ported, and it is not realistic toexpect performers to shun an audi-ence of several million when thereturns are so great. And so whitestake other whites' word on whichblack performers to listen to, andthese black performers move fromthe chitling to the chopped-steak-and-caviar circuit because certain whiteswere clever enough to detect howblack, hence how successful withblack audiences, they were. TheEthiopian Business, as StephenFoster called it, is a strange businessindeed.

Part the Fourth: In Which Patternsof Imitation and Sacrifice Are Exam.ined and Found Wanting.

THE CURRENT FAMILIARITY, then,·breeds contempt, exploitation,and a great deal of bad music. Bor-rowing itself is not the question, sincemusic lives by eclecticism. Still, if youborrow, you must return, and nobodywants an imitation back if they'velent out an original. Bonnie Raitt,Carole King, Bonnie Bramlett, RandyNewman, Joy of Cooking, Tracey~dson, Bob Dylan, and some othershave characters or traditions of theirown to which they have joined bluesand jazz. Others are singing andplaying in styles that derive morefrom Country and Western, pop andmusical, or classical forms. But fartoo many white performers thrive andsurvive on personas and performancesthat are studies in ventriloquism andminstrelsy, careless footnotes to abadlv read blues text. "There are a lotof c~lored guys who can sing me offthe stage," says Rod Stewart. "Buthalf the battle is selling it, not singingit. It's the image, not what you sing."

And the minstrel image has grownmore complex over the years: start-ing, as Imamu Baraka has said, witha simple, "Watch these Niggers," itmoved to, "Watch how well I imitatethese Niggers," then to, "Let's allabandon ourselves and act like Ne-

groes," and finally to, "Observe, par-ticipate and enjoy, as I, a white, adoptcertain characteristics of the blacks,bestowing upon them a style and asetting that they are missing in theirnatural, rougher form."

Has a young admirer ever attachedhimself to you? He dogged yourfootsteps, dressed as nearly like youas possible, acquired your manner-isms and expressions, and told every-one how wonderful you were. Atfirst you may have been amused, evenflattered. But you became uneasy,then annoyed. You were being carica-tured, your individuality underminedand cheapened. You felt used, fed offof, and your admirer took on thelewdness of the voyeur. You were be-ing appropriated for his needs, usedas raw material in his efforts to divertor remodel himself. Finally, you de;spised him.

Imitation is a form of cannibalism.And the imitator is never contentmerely to nibble; oh no, every sooften, when life becomes dull or frus-trating, he becomes greedy. Nothingwill satisfy him but the whole, bodyand blood.

Black musicians have made up animpressive display of sacrifices overthe years. Their records are distrib-uted with the reverence accorded thewine and wafer, while magazine lit-anies lament the cruelty of the worldand the tragedy of candles burned atboth ends. Nevertheless, the sacrifice,it is finally agreed, was for the goodof the community, since the appetitesatisfied was the spiritual craving forfresh vision and emotional rebirth.Or, as Eric Clapton told the New YorkTimes, the death of Jimi Hendrix was"almost a necessity." Sacrifices are al-ways "almost a necessity" when youare not the victim.

The night Jimi died I dreamed thiswas the latest step in a plot being de-signed to eliminate blacks from rockmusic so that it may be recorded inhistory as a creation of whites. Futuregenerations, my dream ran, will betaught that while rock may have hadits beginnings among blacks, it hadits true flowering among whites. Thebest black artists will thus be studiedas remarkable primitives who uncon-sciously foreshadowed future de-velopments.

Two weeks later Janis Joplin wasdead. What does that mean? I askedmyself, momentarily confused. Itmeans she thought she was black andsomebody took her at her word. 0

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